Meteora
by Prophet-Z
Summary: This fic based on Linkin Park's album METEORA. Angst-ridden, depressed Harry runs from Hogwarts, and Dumbledore's only hope of getting him back is to use Voldemort's tools...ch3 explains a lot about plot. R for language now and later for SLASH (HPDM).
1. Numb

OK, here's an idea that I'm testing out: a fic based on Linkin Park's Album "Meteora" (quite possibly my favorite album of all time). I think the angsty mood of the album is perfect to describe Harry's situation. This is a test fic, ergo I haven't worked it all out at all, so I just want to dip my feet in the water. If you review and say that it's a good idea, I'll continue work on it.  
  
Disclaimer: You know.  
  
METEORA by AnonymousBystander  
  
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Chapter 1 - Numb  
  
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I'm tired of being what you want me to be feeling so faithless lost under the surface I don't know what you're expecting of me Put under the pressure of walking in your shoes  
  
--  
  
Sunlight, dull, impassionate, drifted through the curtains of Harry Potter's four-poster bed. Bored, it wrestled with his eyes. Harry didn't put up a fight. He wasn't asleep anyway. He didn't sleep much anymore. It took him hours to fall asleep each night, and he woke up hours before anybody else did. It became an endless routine: waking, thinking, sinking into the silence. Everything had fallen apart; Harry watched, unspeaking, as his life came apart at the seams and fell to the floor as stained rags of injustice.  
  
He wasn't sure what made him go on every day. He felt that he was hovering just above the point of collapse: one stray move and he would fall. He was a tower of bricks under an ocean of oppression. If one brick moved out of place, the pressure would rip apart the tower, kicking up dust into the air.  
  
That would be all. He would collapse, and all there would be was dust, floating, kicked up into the air. After years it would settle, but that wouldn't matter, because everyone would be dead anyway.  
  
What did they want from him? To be a gallant hero, swooping down on Voldemort with a destructive force that would kill the most powerful dark wizard in history? Harry couldn't believe that Dumbledore was doing this to him. How was he expected to kill the man who had killed so many powerful witches and wizards? Was Dumbledore insane? Shouldn't Harry be under some sort of special training for when the day came? But no, Harry was in his sixth year at Hogwarts, and nothing special was being done to him for when the inevitable day came...  
  
"Fucking bastard," Harry muttered, knowing that the silencing charm around his bed would wake the other students in the dormitory. Harry slipped out of bed, pulling on jeans and a t-shirt, then padded down the stairs, careful not to make a sound. He wouldn't need to put on his robes for another couple of hours, when he would slip back upstairs before the others woke up, climb into bed, and pretend he'd been asleep the whole time. Nobody'd be any the wiser up there.  
  
But apparently, someone was wiser down in the common room.  
  
---  
  
Can't you see that you're smothering me holding too tightly afraid to lose control. 'Cause everything that you thought I would be has fallen apart right in front of you [Caught in the undertow/ just caught in the undertow] Every step that I take is another mistake to you  
  
--  
  
"Harry, what are you doing here?"  
  
'Oh, shit,' thought Harry. Hermione was sitting in one of the armchairs close to the fire. She looked tired, and her hair was bushier and more straggliong than usual, which made Harry suspect that she'd slept there, waiting for him. Harry knew there was no way to avoid this conversation; he'd known it would come eventually, lived it in his mind, but he still wasn't ready.  
  
"Harry?" said Hermione; this time she was concerned, not accusatory.  
  
"What?" Harry said, yanked from his thoughts.  
  
Hermione blinked at him. "I said, 'what are you doing here?'"  
  
"I - er - wanted a drink of water," Harry said lamely, "and our pitcher upstairs is empty."  
  
"_Accio Pitcher!_" Hermione exclaimed, drawing out her wand and pointing at the door to the boys' dormitories.  
  
The full pitcher rocketed downstairs, slopping water all over the place. Hermione caught it by the handle and set it down on a nearby table, the look on her face clearly asking for an explaination.  
  
Harry heard a voice from upstairs, and thought for one incredible second that Ron was awake and would come down to his rescue, possibly distracting Hermione from the conversation. But it was just Ron shouting out in his sleep, probably just another sex-crazed dream. Harry sighed. This was not going to be easy.  
  
But before he could speak, Hermione did. "Harry, you know there are potions you can take, right? Anti-depressants. They're really difficult and complex, but I bet we could ask Professor Dumbledore to--"  
  
Harry cut her off. "Hermione, thanks for your concern, but I can handle this myself. I'm not depressed." He walked around her towards the exit to the common room, wanting to take a walk around the lake.  
  
Hermione stepped in front of him, blocking his retreat. "No, Harry," she said firmly, "I'm not going to walk away and let you do this to yourself. I don't know what's going on in there, but it's wrong, and someone's got to do something, because goddammit, you're definitely not helping yourself!"  
  
Harry stared at her. He had never heard her talk like that before, and he most certainly had never heard her curse. For a moment, just a moment, he actually considered agreeing with her. But then, as it always did, his irrationally rational side came into play. 'Don't let her do this to you,' it said smugly, playing with his thoughts. 'Putting yourself in other people's hands makes it much easier for them to hurt you.'  
  
'But this is Hermione!' the other part of him said in protest.  
  
'Trust no one.'  
  
Harry looked hard at Hermione. "I don't need your help, Hermione." He started walking towards the exit. "And don't try to help me, or you'll be sorry!"  
  
The portrait hole opened and closed. Hermione stood there, confused, scared, and sad. "What has happened to you, Harry?"  
  
---  
  
I've become so numb I can't feel you there become so tired so much more aware. I'm becoming this all I want to do is be more like me and be less like you...  
  
--  
  
Harry strode angrily across the lawns towards the lake on the Hogwarts grounds. He was sad, angry, and confused, and he didn't know what to think. He'd just been terrible to his best friend, and he wasn't entirely sure that he was mad at himself for it. It was an aweful feeling.  
  
"WHAT'S HAPPENING TO ME?!" he yelled to nobody, his voice sliding over the lake and being enveloped by the forbidden forest.  
  
He passed a tree on his way around the lake and looked at it. The tree stared solemnly back. "WHAT DO YOU FUCKING WANT?!" He punched the tree, again, again, but didn't feel the pain he knew he should have felt. "WHAT DO YOU WANT?!" Blood was dripping from his knuckles, but he kept punching, over, over, over.  
  
He sank to his knees, still hitting the tree as hard as he possibly could. There was a ringing in his ears, a dull pulsing in his brain.  
  
He fell, fell into darkness.  
  
------------  
  
A/N - As I said, I'm just testing out this idea. Please tell me if you like it, and I'll write another chapter. If I do continue, the next chapter will be written to the song 'Don't Stay'. 


	2. Don't Stay

Thanks to the people who reviewed! Usually my fics don't get reviewed that quickly!  
  
iluvchester - I urge you to read the story.  
  
Miss Lesley - I agree completely!  
  
Disclaimer: You know.  
  
'' = Harry's thoughts/social commentary.  
  
METEORA by AnonymousBystander  
  
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Chapter 2 - Don't Stay  
  
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Sometimes I need to remember just to breathe sometimes I need you to stay away from me Sometimes I'm in disbelief I didn't know Somehow I need you to go.  
  
--  
  
Lights. Bright light, blinding him. Harry's eyes cracked open for a moment. White, harsh light flooded in. His head exploded in flashes of color, red, orange, yellow, pounding into his skill. He snapped his eyes shut and rolled over onto his stomach. He was on a bed. Inhaling, he smelled the antiseptic sheets of Hogwarts' hospital wing.  
  
'Oh, fuck.'  
  
Slowly, very slowly, he turned back onto his back and opened them again, very slowly, allowing them to adjust to the impossible light. He started to sit up, causing yet another colorful ripping sensation through his brain, but he ignored the pain, finally restinghis head against the headboard and allowing himself to think.  
  
What had happened? Why did he end up here? He looked down at his hands. The knuckles were red and bruised, but they looked intact and not dangerously hurt. So why was his head pounding? Why were spots flashing before his eyes? Before he could even ponder the question, there was a muffled shriek which made his head pound even worse.  
  
"Harry!" Hermione called, rushing over to him.  
  
'Oh God, here it comes,' thought Harry.  
  
"Harry, we were so worried about you!"  
  
"Yeah, mate, you gave us quite a scare."  
  
"What happened?" Harry said, trying to shut his friends up for one second.  
  
Madame Pomphrey rushed into the room.  
  
'Finally, for fuck's sake,' Harry's brain shouted, 'my salvation!'  
  
"Mr. Potter, so good to see you awake!"  
  
'Or, maybe not.'  
  
"Your knuckles were broken, Mr. Potter," Pomphrey explained. "Very complex bones, the knuckles. Can't make any mistakes, or the results could be very unfortunate."  
  
'Great, thanks very much, bitch.'  
  
"As to the pounding that I'm sure you're experiencing in your head..."  
  
'Finally.'  
  
"...it's the result of a panic attack. Mr. Potter, I believe that you may be suffering from chronic depression which led to an attack on your body."  
  
'Oh, fucking great.'  
  
Pomphrey reached down and held up wooden box. Harry looked inside. It contained about thirty identical vials of a fizzing, pink potion. Harry nearly gagged right then and there.  
  
"If you just take one of these potions each morning, I'm sure you'll be fine."  
  
'Brilliant. Just brilliant.'  
  
"So," Harry said, not caring about politeness anymore, "you've invented a potion that can bring my parents and Sirius Black from the dead and then kill Voldemort, the most powerful fucking wizard in the world? Brilliant, Madame Pomphrey, let me have it!"  
  
He snatched at the box. Madame Pomphrey, Hermione, and Ron were speechless. Harry grabbed one of the bottles inside and uncorked it, draining the contents into his mouth. He'd barely swallowed it when he was uncorking the next one, and draining that one. After five or six bottles of the disgustingly pink potion, Madame Pomphrey finally had the sense to grab the box of potion from Harry.  
  
"Mr. Potter-"  
  
"Where are they?! I don't see them! Hey, Mom, Dad, Sirius, are you there?! ARE YOU FUCKING THERE!?"  
  
The room started to rotate swiftly around Harry. He slumped against his pillows, unable to move.  
  
"ARE YOU FUCKING THERE?!!"  
  
Darkness enveloped him.  
  
---  
  
Sometimes I feel like a trusted you too well Sometimes I just feel like screaming at myself sometimes I in disbelief I didn't know somehow I need to be alone  
  
--  
  
'Waking up,' thought Harry, 'fucking sucks.'  
  
For the second time that day (come to think of it, he wasn't even sure if it was the same day), Harry awoke with a head that seemed to be torn into pieces, and it wasn't pain from his scar.  
  
And this time, it wasn't only his head that ached. His whole body was searing with fire that wouldn't be quenched. It rang through his whole body. There was pain in places Harry didn't even know he had. He didn't even bother trying to get up. However, the moment he opened his eyes, a shrill whistle began. Mercifully it was night outside, so he wasn't blinded again.  
  
Unmercifully, Madame Pomphrey and Albus Dumbledore entered the room a moment later, and the whistling sound halted.  
  
Dumbledore sat down next to Harry's bed. Pomphrey remained standing, surveying Harrry shrewdly with one eye.  
  
"Harry, what you did yesterday was very, very foolish," began Dumbledore solemnly. Harry wanted to come up with some rude and daring remark just to annoy the wizened Headmaster, but under Dumbledore's calculating gaze, nothing came to his mind.  
  
"What - what happened," he managed feebly, inwardly cursing himself for making him seem so weak in front of his headmaster.  
  
Dumbledore looked up to Pomphrey, who said, "Mr. Potter, that potion was a muscle relaxant and anti-depressant. The dose you took was in such excess of the recommendeded that your muscles started to break down, and your heart very nearly stopped. Luckily, I had some of the antidote in my office. But if I hadn't..." She trailed off, leaving Harry feeling very guilty.  
  
"Harry," said Dumbledore softly, redirecting his attention, "I'll say it again. What you did today was very foolish. Luckily, you cannot die, because the prophecy states that either you will be killed by Lord Voldemort, or you will kill him. However, I don't want to be taking any chances, Mr. Potter. I'm going to tell you this right now, because I want to be perfectly honest. After you leave the hospital wing tomorrow, you will be under heavy watch by the staff and certain students. We can't have any ... accidents. Do you understand, Harry?"  
  
'This is so unfair!' Harry's mind screamed, but he just deafly nodded and turned away, closing his eyes. He heard Dumbledore's and Pomphrey's footsteps retreating, then opened his eyes again...  
  
---  
  
Don't stay forget our memories forget our possibilities what you were changing me into [just give me myself back and] don't stay forget our memories forget our possibilities take all your faithlessness with you [just give me myself back and] don't stay  
  
--  
  
As soon as Harry was sure that Dumbledore and Pomphrey were truly gone, Harry slipped out of bed, quiet as a shadow. He was going to put a stop to all of this: right here, right now, he was going leave and never come back. He couldn't handle it - the pain, the pressure, the sadness, the numbness.  
  
He padded through the hallways. Even with his invisibility cloak and the Maurader's Map, he was still and expert at navigating the halls of Hogwarts late at night without getting caught. Left, right, right, through a secret door behind a tapestry, upstairs, left. He twisted his way till he found his way to the fat lady's portrait. Without giving her time to question, he muttered the password and was inside.  
  
The commonroom was dark and empty. The embers of a dying fire just barely glowed in the hearth. Harry tiptoed across the room and crept upstairs, silent as a mouse. Inside his dormitory, he pulled out his invisibility cloak, his wand, and the Marauder's Map. It would be useless outside of Hogwarts, he knew, but he took it anyway.  
  
He grabbed his Firebolt and left the dormitory for the last time ever.  
  
Making his way back down was much easier than going up now that he had the cloak and the map. Soon, oh so soon, he was at the entrance hall, and then out, out onto the cool lawns.  
  
Don't stay, shouted the castle behind him, don't stay.  
  
Harry mounted his firebolt and kicked off, soaring away. Soon the castle was going, going, gone.....  
  
------  
  
A/N - If you think I should continue, the next chapter is 'Easier to Run'. Please review! 


	3. Easier to Run

Wow! Thanks to everyone who reviewed!  
  
Miss Lesley - Thanks for your tips! I had thought about several of those things, but certain ones, such as the tracking of the wand thing, are key to the story. You'll see in this chapter.  
  
LocalfreakBoy - Thank you very much! I prefer showing rather than telling; in my experience, it allows the reader to analyze the story for themselves.  
  
Blue Rose Dragon - Thank you! I find that the angsty music of Meteora is an excellent backdrop for Harry's difficult position. This chapter in particular is particularly suited for the job, I think.  
  
METEORA by AnonymousBystander  
  
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Chapter 3 - Easier to Run  
  
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"Draco! Over here!" hissed an ice-cold voice.  
  
Draco Malfoy turned towards the sound of the voice, spotting moonlight glinting off of his father's alabaster hair.  
  
"I don't know why you wanted to meet me here in the forest, of all places, Father," Draco whispered, afraid his drawling voice would carry up to the castle. "There are much more secure places than this off the grounds of Hogwarts."  
  
"Yes, Draco," said Lucius Malfoy icily, "but Dumbledore would notice if you left the grounds, he notices everything, so we must take precautions."  
  
Draco was annoyed, but in this case, obedience was better than rudeness. "Yes, sir," he muttered.  
  
"Draco," Lucius said, whispering even more softly and moving in closer to Draco, "you know what you must do, don't you?"  
  
Draco choked. "You're - you're sending me after Potter?" Lucius nodded. "Why me?"  
  
"Well, for obvious reasons, the Dark Lord can't do it. Any dissappearance from the highest Death Eaters would be conspicuous, and Wormtail refused to kill Potter and is now...not fit for the job. Furthermore, two missing students from Hogwarts will be noticed, and will not look good for Dumbledore, who's only just been recognized as sane. You'll run away tomorrow night, and follow Potter. Come back here tomorrow night at midnight; supplies will be waiting with you. Good luck." Lucius Malfoy disappeared into the darkness of the Forbidden Forest.  
  
---  
  
It's easier to run replacing this pain with something numb it's so much easier to go than face all this pain here all alone  
  
--  
  
The wind swept through Harry's hair as an exhilarated feeling tumbled through his stomach. This was what it meant to be truly free, in the air, dancing through light pillows of clouds, moisture and exitement gathering on his face, all obligations left behind him in a dot that was fading fast.  
  
As he left the castle, the inner pain within him faded, hiding itself in some deep recesses of his mind which he couldn't feel. It doidn't bother him that the pain was just hiding; he was just glad that he couldn't feel it anymore.  
  
He was gone...  
  
But where to go? First, he needed money, but not Galleons. He doubted that he could stay in the wizarding world; he was much too conspicuous, he'd be sighted instantly. But then came the problem of actually getting to Muggle London and to Diagon alley, where he could get and exchange money. He had no idea where Hogwarts was.  
  
Then Harry got an idea. He turned around in midair and started to head back towards Hogwarts. But instead of going to the castle, Harry landed in Hogsmeade. He landed in the pitch black town center and crept along the silent street to Oldman's Currencies, a run-down old currency exchange center in an alley off of the main street.  
  
Harry took out is wand. He knew it was risky, using magic, because it was easily traceable, but he would be out of Hogsmeade by the time Dumbledore or whoever else was watching him would have time to raise the alarm and get here.  
  
"Alohomora," Harry whispered at the lock. It glowed green, then red, but didn't click open.  
  
'Shit.'  
  
Harry slipped around to the back of the building and found a back door.  
  
"Alohomora," he whispered agian. The lock clicked and the door silently swung open. Harry crept inside, making sure not to make a sound.  
  
The room he entered was dark. Fully knowing the risks, Harry muttered, "Lumos," and his wand's tip ignited with a small glowing light.  
  
The room was small and cramped. One entire wall was covered with drawers of different shapes and sizes. Harry went over to the wall and held his wand close to one of the drawers, which had a card that read "American $". Other drawers held other muggle currencies from around the world. Eventually, Harry found the drawer that held English pounds. He opened it and grabbed a handful of crisp bills.  
  
As an afterthought as Harry exited the store, Harry opened his money back and emptied his last few galleons onto the table. Hopefully, he thought, it would be enough to cover whatever he had taken.  
  
Now, he could fly under cover of darkness to the nearest muggle settlement, and take a train to London, where he'd be able to get money from his vault and start a new life.  
  
---  
  
"Why didn't the alarm go off?!" Dumbledore demanded of his deputy, Minerva McGonogall.  
  
"The charm is set so that the alarm is only set off if something is stolen from the shop! Potter left more than enough money to cover what he took, so technically, he didn't steal." She paused contemplatively. "Albus, how are we going to get him back? We can't trust that he'll continue to use magic that we can trace."  
  
"Yes, Minerva, I doubt that he will. However, there is somebody who does know how to track him..."  
  
McGonogall gasped. "You don't mean...?"  
  
Dumbledore smiled bitterly. "I was lucky enough to hear young Mr. Malfoy's conversation with his father...I've already placed a tracing spell on him. Voldemort has the power to track Harry using Draco, and I have the power to track Draco."  
  
"But isn't that dangerous, Albus," McGonogall pleaded, "to leave the hope of the wizarding world in the hands of somebody who's out to kill him?"  
  
"Minerva, I'm afraid we have no other choice."  
  
---  
  
Something has been taken from deep inside of me a secret I've kept locked away no one can ever see. Wounds so deep they never show they never go away. Like moving pictures in my head, for years and years they've played.  
  
--  
  
Draco crept into the forest, silent as the night itself. As expected, when he reached the arranged meetingplace, there was a small pile of objects, on top of which was a parchment note. Igniting his wand and holding it close to the ink, Draco read:  
  
"Draco--  
  
I'm glad to see that you have found your instructions and supplies without difficulty. As you know very much is resting on this, Draco. Do not fail me, or the dark lord will be after both of our blood.  
  
The supplies here are very simple. The first is a wand solution. Simple dip your wand in this liquid and it will modify your 'point me' spell to always point in the direction of Potter. Furthermore, it will vibrate at different levels depending on how close to him you are.  
  
The second is a Firebolt. It is the best way for you to get around.  
  
The third is a simple, fast-acting poison. If it comes to it, you can just throw it in Potter's face. It should take about three seconds to take effect.  
  
From here, I must cut off all contact with you, though you must owl me immediately once you kill him. If you cannot, or he kills you, then you deserve to die.  
  
Cordially, your loving father,  
  
Lucius Malfoy"  
  
Draco scowled. Ifi he didn't bring home Potter's body, he wouldn't be able to set foot in Malfoy Manor again.  
  
'Never mind,' thought Draco, 'that's not a problem. I'll just kill Potter and be done with it.'  
  
Draco picked up the small bottle of purple wand solution and dipped his wand in it. It hissed and glowed blue, before dying down again.  
  
"Point me," he whispered, and his wand swiveled around on his palm to point almost due east. "Well," Draco said to himself, "let's go!"  
  
He mounted the firebolt and kicked off, soaring above the trees and away from Hogwarts.  
  
---  
  
"How much is a ticket to London?"  
  
"Er -- twenty pounds. Train comes at eight though, so you'll have to wait."  
  
Harry laid a twenty pound note on the ledge and the man behind the ticket booth handed him his ticked. Harry glanced at his watch; it was still seven A.M., which meant he had an hour before he'd have to get on the train.  
  
Harry yawned; he hadn't gotten a lot of sleep. He'd flown on his broomstick for a few hours before spotting a town and discreetly landing. He'd slept for a couple of hours on a bench, but was still exhausted.  
  
Not wanting to lie down on the hard, uncomfortable bench again, Harry made his way over to the Hillshire Inn, a small, nearly empty bar close to the train station. He sat down at the bar, and, wishing that he could have had a nice cool butterbeer, he purchased a coca-cola and sipped it slowly, evaluating his situation.  
  
He regretted having to take the train, it was too clear a day to try flying over it, and he knew he'd be more difficult to track if he was traveling like all of the other muggles.  
  
Harry stared mournfully into the dark soda. Was this the right thing to do, runny away from all of his fears?  
  
'You coward,' a voice inside of him said. 'You're too scared to face scary ol' Voldemort so you're running away...'  
  
'No!' another voice shouted. 'I can't avoid my battle with Voldemort; the prophecy says so. I'm running away from something else, you fool.'  
  
'And what would that be?'  
  
'From you!' shouted the reasonable voice. Harry wished desperately that he could have something to distract him from the annoying voices inside his head. Luckily, something, something wearing a disgusting green dress cut down to the navel, sat down next to him.  
  
"Hi, honey," said the woman. She looked to be only a few years older than Harry, and she was quite obviously a hooker. She leaned in close to him. "You look a little lonely."  
  
Harry didn't say anything, he just took a sip of his coke.  
  
"I can help you relieve some of your...stress."  
  
Harry couldn't believe this. He was in a small town called Hillshire and a hooker was trying to get him into bed at seven in the morning?!  
  
He turned to her with a gracious smile. "Thanks, but no thanks."  
  
"Why not?" she purred into his ear.  
  
Harry put his mouth right next to her ear and whispered, "I'm a fag."  
  
She leaned the other way and looked at him. "Oh," she muttered, abashed. "Sorry."  
  
She walked away. Harry sat there, whiling away the time until his train came.  
  
------  
  
A/N - I hope you liked it. The next chapter, if you think this fic is fit to go on, is 'Lying from You'. 


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